One Inch
by LilyJadeth
Summary: Just a short drabble of a murder by none other than the notorious Beyond Birthday. My summaries fail today.


**I actually have a friend named Michael, and there's someone else I know named Mickey — no offense to either of them, I just needed a name and those two names came to mind. It works. I dunno. I hope I wrote B alright. I'm not used to playing him at all orz. And I got everything I know about tattoos and such from watching LA Ink and Miami Ink, so I hope I don't fail at all this information. Enjoy!~**

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Miami was certainly a strange place to be. So many people hurried about as if their lives depended on it, as if they needed to be somewhere this very second. There must have been thirty or forty people who'd passed by carrying surfboards, most of whom were still dripping wet and wearing their swim trunks or bikinis like a T-shirt and jeans. They laughed, chattering brightly; the surfer lingo the guys used was carefree and completely incomprehensible, while the girls' slanted voices grated at the skull and put the ears through agony. The constant slap of flip-flops that was almost like a large crowd slowly clapping beat the mind into the ground. The nearby sound of incoming waves was the only noise that was even remotely relaxing.

Beyond sat back against the outer wall of the building, squeezing his eyes closed and attempting to shut out all the things that were torturing his perfectly sound mind. Oh, what irony. He opened them again, watching the red-shaded names hover over unsuspecting Miami citizens. It had taken quite a while, but he'd finally mastered the art of understanding the seemingly random set of numbers underneath each name. Most were set to die at sixty or seventy, a few at around middle age, and the occasional person who was doomed to a death in the next day or so. So far, Beyond hadn't found such a person, and this thought toyed at his extremely bored and vexed state.

Then, a godsend: a man of about twenty-four years of age was set to die tomorrow. A surfing accident, he assumed. But it didn't matter now, because Beyond would now take the man's fate into his own hands. And what luck — the man had walked right into the tattoo parlor Beyond had been leaning against. His plan was going perfectly. Beyond strolled into the parlor, abandoning the hunch in his posture to assure the new employee at the front desk that he would take care of it and approached the customer.

"Welcome, sir," Beyond said, managing a smile that wasn't frightening in the least, but it still held a bit of its malevolence. Beyond was still quite young, only seventeen, but with his pale complexion and the bags under his eyes, along with the adult air that emanated from him, he could easily pass for twenty or over. Luckily, the man didn't make the slightest comment. "Name?" Asking for the man's name instilled an inner sense of irony.

"Mickey," he said. Michael "Mickey" Woodsworth already bore several detailed tattoos on his sleeveless arms and one that ran over one side of his collarbone to creep up his neck. Assorted snakes, daggers, fish, even a curvy woman on one shoulder that suggested the man's desire to be accepted as a tough guy in society. His head was bald, eyes a deep shade of clear brown. He probably owned a motorcycle; most "tough guys" did.

"Ryuzaki." He noticed that Mickey gave him an odd look, obviously confused at an asian-sounding name for someone who was clearly not asian. Beyond shook Mickey's hand, noticing the strong grip that nearly topped his own, crossed the name off a clipboard, and hummed lightheartedly to himself. "Alright, let me just get your art request." Beyond disappeared behind the desk to come out with the light paper with a lined sketch of a heart with the name Sherry across it in cursive. He supressed a smile at how appropriate it was and led Mickey to the back room. "Sorry, but most of our stations today are full so we'll have to use the one we've got down here."

"Sure," Mickey complied. Beyond stifled the urge a laugh. The man sat down in the chair, used to routine; he'd been here many times, so he apparently knew the procedure. Beyond passed thin fingertips over the heavy door before pushing it softly, letting its momentum slamming it shut as the door swung easily on recently-oiled hinges. The lock clicked with the slight flip of his fingers. The noise echoed throughout the dead silence, bouncing off the walls and ringing in their ears, but he was sure no one above had heard, and even if they had it wouldn't have sounded anything out of the ordinary. Beyond swung a nearby swivel chair, picking it up off the ground and dropping it down to where he wanted it placed. The man flinched when the chair's metal base clanged against the cold floor.

Beyond chose from the array of pens on the ancient desk and began to trace the simple design with ease, letting the ink flow smoothly so that it wouldn't dry too quickly. "Ready?" The question was completely rhetorical, as whether Mickey was ready or not he flipped up the paper and pressed it to the startled man's bicep and peeled it off, leaving the ink outline glistening on his skin.

"Are you new here?" the man asked, concern edging his tone. Beyond smiled and pretended he hadn't heard his question, instead focusing on setting up the tattoo needles in the machine. He'd learned, oh how he'd learned to use it. Beyond settled into his comfortable hunch and began to form the basic tattoo lines in black. His eyes went dim with concentration solely on his art, occasionally moving to wipe excess ink away with a towel. Beyond pressed the needles in further, and Mickey winced in nonverbal complaint.

"Forgot to get out the red," Beyond mumbled and walked to the cabinet to fetch the red ink. He saw Mickey pull the skin of his arm taut, busy attempting to examine his work so far. Beyond, grinning widely, took this opportunity to put the towel to a better use. It came down and around the man's head, shoved forcefully into his mouth with the back tied as Beyond held both wrists in one hand and Mickey's neck squeezed in the other with the strangling hold of slender fingers and as much as he struggled he couldn't match Beyond's strength.

In a good few minutes, Beyond managed to securely tie the man down to the chair. He let a smug smile tug at his lips as he watched Mickey's eyes stare in confused horror. The sight made his heartbeat quicken with excitement.

"You, Michael Woodsworth, are going to be my first test subject for an experiment I'd like to perform." Beyond adjusted the needle's depth from one-eighth to one-fourth and set the machine to Mickey's skin. The muffled screams put his previously tormented mind at ease. The needles dug deep, pecking further at flesh and drawing blood. "The experiment," he said, dragging the needles slowly down Mickey's arm, "is to see if a man can die of lead poisoning from excessive tattoo ink in the bloodstream." Beyond paused for a moment to adjust the depth to one-half. Mickey jerked violently when the needle hit, his hands contorting in agony and grasping desperately at the chair. Flesh tore, leaving long gashes down the bicep. Did he dare go to one inch?

The answer was yes.

After twenty minutes of the torture, Beyond stopped, taking his finger off the machine's trigger. Mickey groaned behind the gag, tears streaming down his face and mixing with sweat. Blood now completely soaked his arm and flowed down his forearm, dripping onto the floor. He'd folded painfully into the chair, as if trying to hide himself. Beyond stared down at the machine with a bored expression and wondered what else he could do when he saw Mickey open his eyes faintly.

Beyond smirked, eyes aglow with newfound interest. "How good is your vision, Michael?"

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**Ratings and reviews are greatly appreciated! (no flames please :) thank you kindly)**


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